Communal hymn of the Old Thiasos
Arise, Arise, you drowsy goats,
it’s time for the hunt!
Raise up your horns, and drink.
Sound the call with lusty voice,
and run, run with the wine in your veins,
run with us!
I tremble beneath the weight of my own ridiculousness.
The childish absurdities of my soul cry out to you,
and you answer.
Your laughter bubbles up in my throat.
Your stomping dance leaps in my feet.
I am unbound and filled with joy beyond all reason and madness.
Great and terrible are the blessings of the Satyrs,
graceless and beyond beauty.
Insatiable gluttons for the greatest pleasures,
may you be honored in the absurd pursuits of our deepest desires.
Seek pleasure, seek greatness! Seek whatever you will,
seek whomever you will!
Let us chase you as you chase us,
let us take you as you take us.
Let us enjoy you as you enjoy us,
let us open you as you open us.
Pour your hot, heady wine into our throats and hearts.
Erect your thyrsi, wild Satyrs,
Tongue the last drop of wine,
and pluck the last grape,
always calling out for more!
A Hymn to Seilenos
Oh Poppa Seilenos,
come grunting like a shaman
dancing round the sacred fire,
as you appear riding an ass into the temple,
blessing all with showers of wine
from your cup that never empties.
Lift high the ivied thyrsos
and shout Bacchus up
into the flowers and the fruiting branch
as you shake your corpulent frame
in the ecstatic motions of the life-swelling dithyramb
that compels the mad women into the forests
to hunt for the mad baby god.
You are the chief-cowherd, the esteemed leader
of the sacrificial rite, the prophet who speaks from the wilderness,
the one who takes the first taste of wine
and signals the start of the festivities with your wild bellylaugh.
You nurtured the fosterling on the mountaintop
and taught him to laugh,
foreseeing the tragic mould of his life
and the usefulness of such a remedy for Keres.
Accept my gratitude, oh wise elder
of the incomparable Satyr race,
and know that should I find you one day
in my garden munching roses,
I will set you free
without thought of price.
Hymn to Silenos
by Rebecca Lynn Scott
I pray to Silenos
Noble drunkard, wise fool,
Wild man of the woods,
Foster-father to the Bacchic One.
Horse-eared and horse-tailed,
You ride your ass through the revels,
Dispensing inebriated philosophy,
As wise as it is slurred,
As caring as it is jumbled.
Bless us with your wisdom
And don’t fall off.
by Courtney Belyea
God of music untamed.
In the shrieking wilds.
Every bud opens to Him.
Every star shines lustrous upon Him.
Son of Hermes the traveler, the orator- guide of the dead.
Each fragrant leaf, an incense among Him.
Things grow in dark, untamed places around Him.
The beautiful songs of the reeds lamenting.
The death of the earth.
Panicked cries of mortals, consumed by the earth.
Those who dishonour Him will know the wilds of death, untamed.
Oh Pan, I pray that you nourish my soul with the tenderness of your beloved sheep.
Let me glimpse your mysteries, hidden within your domain like sacred gems in the earth.